Tir Na Nog
by Skydiver1
Summary: Sam has an encounter with the Fair Folk. How will this affect everyone's plans? Season 2
1. Chapter 1

Prologue:

The man stumbled through the forest, his feet tripping over tree roots, his clothes snagged by branches. He felt an increasing sense of disorientation along with a rising panic. Nothing was as it should be. There was a strange glow in the night sky in the direction of the town of Willingdon. The very trees in the forest seemed unfamiliar. The chestnuts should still be in bloom, but they were gone, replaced by pines and oaks. Even the air smelled different.

Exhaustion forced him to stop. He sat down on a log and tried to draw a deep breath, but his lungs wouldn't fill with air. He could barely move and every joint and muscle ached unbearably. The normal nocturnal sounds of insects and birds began to fade. Something was wrong with his vision as well. It was a clear night with a full moon, but it seemed as if there were clouds in front of his eyes.

He tried to rise, but fell to the ground in agony. His last thought before everything went black was, "I should never have returned."

A solitary hiker, alerted the noises made by the man's desperate struggle, ran over to him and turned him over.

The hiker screamed.


	2. Chapter 2

A Biggerson's near Willingdon, South Carolina:

It was a normal day for the Winchesters. After finishing up a routine salt and burn, they'd headed to a Biggerson's for dinner. Sam leafed through the local newspaper looking for a new case, while Dean gave a silent 'howdy' to the waitress.

"Listen to this, Dean," Sam said. "A hiker found the body of a man in the state forest outside of town. The strange thing is "

"What's so strange about that," Dean interrupted. "He was probably just some hiker who got lost."

Sam gave his brother an annoyed look. "Let me finish. The body was dressed in old fashioned clothes. I mean really old fashioned, like before the civil war."

"Probably one of those re-enactor dudes," Dean said dismissively.

"There weren't any re-enactors out in the park that day," Sam said. "Besides, he wasn't dressed in a uniform. According to the article he was dressed like a 'dandy'. But that's not the weirdest thing." Sam paused briefly to take a bite of his veggie burger.

"I'm listening," Dean said, making eye contact with Sam, while adroitly stealing the rest of Sam's French fries.

"Hey!" Sam snapped, swatting Dean's hand away in a futile effort to save his lunch. "Anyway, like I said, that wasn't the weirdest thing. The coroner says that the body appeared to be at least two hundred years old."

Dean frowned, "You mean his was lying out there for two hundred years? That's not a monster, Sam, that's just, I dunno, bad luck."

"No, Dean, I mean the man looked like he was two hundred years old, but the clothes he was wearing were fairly new. He doesn't match any missing person's report either."

"Okay, I'm listening," Dean said while chomping on the stolen fries.

Sam decided to ignore Dean's table manners. "The name sewn into his shirt is Josiah Pearce. The only Josiah Pearce in the county mysteriously vanished in 1848," he concluded triumphantly.

"That sounds like something out of Scooby Doo," Dean said. "Probably a crooked real estate developer at the bottom of it."

Sam shot Dean a classic bitchface. "I'm serious Dean; this is something we should check out."

"Do what, exactly? Since when do we handle time travel? Whatever happened to that guy, it was nothing to do with wendigoes, or ghosts, or werewolves, or ghouls, or vampires, or demons, or . . . anything we do," Dean said pragmatically. He glanced out the window at the strip club across the street. "Yeah, I can think of better things to do than getting eaten alive by mosquitoes and fighting off a bear."

Sam saw where Dean was looking. "Fine," he snapped. "If you don't want to check it out, I will. Have fun. "

"I will," Dean promised.

Sam, shaking his head in disgust walked out of the Biggerson's.


	3. Chapter 3

Biggerson's

Dean sat alone, staring morosely into his coffee. It had been three months since Sam had disappeared and there were no leads. Missouri was baffled; Bobby had researched every book of lore he had, and contacted hunter he knew but had come up dry.

Dean felt a familiar stab of guilt as he reviewed the events of the last three months. He hadn't actually been that concerned at first. Sam was a big guy and could take care of himself. It wasn't until the hours passed and Sam wasn't answering his cell phone, that Dean began to worry. He'd promptly hot-wired a car and headed to the state forest. He'd found the Impala at the entrance to the hiking trails, but no sign of Sam. Really concerned, he'd notified the park rangers who had conducted an extensive search, but they had found no sign of Sam.

If only he had taken Sam seriously when Sam had tried to interest him in that case. If only he had gone with Sam to the woods instead of that strip club. If only he hadn't been too wasted to notice that Sam's bed was empty when he had finally rolled in to the motel at 4:00 a.m. If only a lot of things.

Dean's attempt at a crossroads bargain had come to nothing when the demon, a short, balding man in a dapper suit, had denied all knowledge of Sam's whereabouts. Dean could have sworn the demon had muttered something cryptic about it all being for the best before disappearing in a puff of smoke.

As he got up to leave, he was accosted by a man in a slightly grubby trench coat. The man glared at Dean and growled out, "where is your brother?"

Dean was not in the mood for any crap. Not bothering to speak, he punched the man in the nose. Oddly enough, this didn't have any affect. Before he could take another swing, another man, this one balding, and dressed like a middle-manager, took the first man aside and said peevishly, "Castiel, this useless mud monkey doesn't know anything."

Trench coat guy touched Dean's forehead; by the time he woke up, they had disappeared, leaving Dean to wonder who those guys were, and what the hell had just happened. He never found out.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam waived off the server offering him a cup of mead. Hadn't these people ever heard of beer? Frankly, he was getting a little sick of the endless Ren Faire thing. Sure, it was nice for a few days, but it was time to return to the real world. If he had to watch one more joust, he'd lose it. Was he the only one here who liked football?

Enough with the dancing, he thought as the crowd assembled yet again on the green. Where was Maeve? Thinking of Maeve, Sam felt happier than he had since he'd lost Jessica. Maeve even looked a lot like Jessica, Sam thought. He had been so lucky to run into to her and her companions that night in the woods.

He had started out at the spot where Josiah Pearce's body had been found, but had quickly gotten turned around in the woods. A strange mist had come up suddenly and Sam had lost the trail. To top it off his cell phone had decided to stop working. He'd wandered for hours, before hearing the sounds of music and laughter.

Just who were these people, some kind of new age hippies? Lord of the Rings groupies? Sam had wondered as he stumbled into their camp. Whoever they were, they sure were dedicated to authenticity, Sam thought, looking around him. Their clothes, shoes, hats, everything was homespun or made of fur or leather. Even the pots and pans looked as if they'd been made by hand.

For a moment, Sam thought he was in trouble, but then a beautiful girl had smiled at him. The rest of the crowd, seeing her reaction, quickly welcomed him. Sam had spent the last few days or was it weeks in their company. Funny how the days seemed endless, Sam thought briefly.

He spotted Maeve talking with several other girls a few yards away. Coming closer, he heard a few snippets of their conversation.

"He's as handsome as Oshin," one of the girls said smiling at Sam, much to Sam's embarrassment.

Oshin? A memory nagged at the back of Sam's mind. He'd heard that name before. Sam felt a trickle of uneasiness, but before he could pin down the cause, Maeve grabbed his hand and led him back to the dance.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean hated witches.

It had been six months since Sam disappeared and he was at the end of his rope. He'd spent every waking moment visiting psychics, contacting the entire North American hunter network and he'd even hacked into the FBI database to see if Sam was in custody, to no avail. Okay, so maybe consulting a witch he'd found on Craigslist wasn't the best idea, but he was desperate. He looked around at the overdone spooky décor, complete with plastic 'crystal' ball and gave a despairing groan.

The witch, who resembled a red headed Morticia, smiled insincerely, and said, "What brings such a braw fellow as yourself to my door?"

Dean, too depressed to flirt, handed her a photograph of a smiling Sam perched on the Impala's hood.

"Och, there's a fine, long lad", the witch said as she studied Sam's picture.

Dean snatched the photograph out of her hands. "He's missing. He vanished six months ago and I can't find any trace of him," he snapped. "I heard you could help find him".

"I'm sure I can help you, for the proper fee, of course," she said.

Inside Dean hope warred with anger. Hope won. He'd be willing to pay this woman anything she wanted if she could find Sam.

He watched with a mixture of hope and trepidation while the witch assembled various ingredients, drew occult symbols, lit a candle and began an incantation.

Before she could finish a man's voice called out from the rear of the house, "Mother, I need to speak to you now."

"Sorry, I must have a word with my son," the witch said as she rose and went through the curtain of tacky beads into the back of the house.

If Dean had been his usual self he would have eavesdropped, but he was distracted to pay any real attention to their conversation.

"What is it now, Fergus," she snapped. "I'm in the middle of a consultation."

"Mother, you don't know what you're getting involved with," a man's voice said. "You don't want to get on the bad side of the fair folk. It's too late anyway. The boy is gone."

"The fair folk!" she exclaimed. "All right, Fergus," she said. "I'll send that handsome lad away with a flea in his ear." She returned to the front room.

"Sorry, I no canna help you," the witch said insincerely. "Come back anytime," she said in a cheery voice as she escorted Dean to the front door.

Dean considered killing her on principle, but didn't even have the energy. Besides, killing her wouldn't bring Sam back, and she did have bouncy hair.

Much later, Dean remembered the half-overheard conversation. He had the sickening realization that the witch and her mysterious son had known what happened to Sam, but he'd been too sunken in misery to pay attention, and by the time he'd returned to confront her, she was gone.

Dean hated witches.


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning:

Sam woke early. He left the tent he'd been sharing with Maeve, and made his way to the 'necessary'. The 'necessary' was one thing he wouldn't miss when he returned to civilization, Sam thought. These folks didn't believe in any modern conveniences. Sam hadn't seen a toilet, fridge or even a cooler since he'd joined them. Come to think of it, he hadn't heard the sound of an engine, or seen an airplane overhead since he arrived at the campground.

He saw Maeve and her older sister, Mab deep in conversation. Curious, Sam moved closer quietly. Something was off about this place and he'd better find out what it was.

"You shouldn't have brought him here. You know it never ends well," Mab said. "No matter how happy they seem at first, they always want to go back."

"But Mab, it will be different this time," Maeve said.

"Nualla thought the same thing, and look what happened!" Mab replied.

Nualla? Sam had a vague memory of seeing a weeping woman swathed in a veil before Maeve had swept him away. "My sister lost her husband just a few days ago," she had said. "He left us, and can never return." Sam hadn't had the time or inclination to probe deeper. He continued to listen.

"I can explain it to him," Maeve said.

"They are not capable of understanding any warning," Mab said adamantly.

The two women saw Sam. Mab retreated to her tent, while Maeve gazed uncertainly at Sam.

Sam shook himself slightly. Feeling as if he had suddenly awoken from a dream he looked around, carefully scrutinizing his surroundings. How long had he been here, he wondered uneasily? The days had run together, each one filled with games, contests, songs and feasting, while the nights with Maeve were, well, incredible. It had been so easy to tell himself that he would stay for just one more day. After all, he'd been through so much in the last year, he deserved a break, and it was so easy to just let put all his sorrows out of mind and enjoy the present.

"Uh Maeve, what was your sister's husband's name?" Sam asked.

"Josiah," Maeve said brightly.

"Jo. . Josiah?" Sam said, an unpleasant suspicion sweeping over him. "Josiah Pearce?"

"Yes, Josiah Pearce," Maeve replied.

"And your cousin's husband?" Sam said.

"His name was Oshin, and a fine man he was," Maeve answered.

Sam suddenly remembered where he'd heard the name 'Oshin'. It was from a book of folktales he'd read for his anthropology course at Stanford. Oshin was the son of Finn Mac Cool, who had fallen in love with one of the fae, travelled to her land, became homesick, and returned home, only to find that three hundred years had passed.

Oshin had aged hundreds of years in an instant and died. Died . . . just like Josiah Pearce had aged and died, Sam realized, a wave of horror washing over him.

Were these people fae? Sam thought.

Sam furiously racked his brain for every bit of lore on the fae. They were mercurial people, quick to anger, but generous to those they favored. Not people whom any sane person would want to offend, that was for sure. The legends told of their endless youth and beauty. There were stories of mortals meeting the same group of the fair folk several times over the course of their lives, with the fae always appearing young while the mortals aged and died.

But were they long lived, or was their home in another dimension, one where time ran differently, giving the impression that they never aged? It would seem that way to someone who had never been taught about relativity. A person such as Oshin or Josiah. Those poor men obviously didn't understand the warnings, and thought they could just return to their lives, their families.

Sam looked around the campsite again, trying to get his bearings. He noticed the leaves were starting to change colors. It was nearly fall, Sam thought. It had been early spring when he arrived, so he must have been here for nearly six months, he realized.

A wave of horror washed over him. How much time had passed since he left? If he went home, would there be anyone he knew, anything familiar left? Was Dean an old man? Was Dean even alive? If he did go back, would he age and die, his life gone in an instant?

Sam looked back towards the forest. All he could see was the swirling mist.

He looked at Maeve's beautiful face, thought of Oshin and Josiah, imagining the pain and horror those men must have felt at seeing their strong young bodies turn into withered husks. He thought about Dean and Bobby.

"Nothing is wrong, I'm just happy to be here, Sam said bravely, fighting back a tsunami of grief, "just happy to be here.


	7. Chapter 7

Somewhere in space and time:

Two men, one tall and rather cadaverous dressed in a white suit, the other short, scruffy and bearded sat companionably.

"Why did you change the story?" the taller man asked.

"I dunno. I'd been writing it for years, found myself repeating the same plot points over and over again, and I couldn't think of a good ending, so I thought I scrap everything, and work on something new," the other man said.

The deathly thin man shrugged, "Your business, I suppose."

"Everybody's a critic," his companion groused. "Anyway, I've got a new story I'm excited about. It's about time travel.


End file.
